


Cracks in the Walls

by ghostboi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Implied Relationships, Locked up, POV Outsider, Possessive Dean, Prison, Prompt Fill, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Some mentions of violence, not really fluff, pov inmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: The smaller of the two – and he was smallonlyin comparison to his gigantic of a brother - dropped a hand on the back of the bigger one’s neck as the two of ‘em took their own look around. It was a clear gesture, to anyone who wasn’t a complete idiot: he was signaling ownership. Staking his territory.This is mine, hands off.An inmate's POV when the Brothers end up in prison for a brief spell.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill: "Outsider POV of the boys ending up in prison for a short spell."  
> Surprisingly smut-free.  
> ...huh.  
> I don't know if I like how it turned out, but here it is.

The other day some local journalist showed up, wanting to interview a couple of prisoners for some story he was doing. I was one of the lucky chosen. He asked me a couple of questions. You know the kind they ask in these types of things: What’s it like in here? How are we treated by the guards? One that struck a chord, though, was the last one he asked, and he asked it half in jest, I think: _Who’s the scariest inmate you’ve ever met in here?_

The prize for that one would go to a couple of brothers that were locked up in here for a real short while, couple of months ago. I remember that day they showed up like it was yesterday. Hell, sometimes I have nightmares about it.

They walked into the yard and all eyes locked on ‘em. Of course they did, this was fresh meat. The smaller of the two – and he was small _only_ in comparison to his gigantic of a brother - dropped a hand on the back of the bigger one’s neck as the two of ‘em took their own look around. It was a clear gesture, to anyone who wasn’t a complete idiot: he was signaling ownership. Staking his territory. _This is mine, hands off._

They made their way to an old, empty picnic table at the end of the yard, sat down and struck up a conversation. Like they had been there for years. Like they hadn’t just walked into an environment of violent criminals, some who were hungry for new blood.

I’m in for multiple murders, violent all of them, and those two scared the hell out of me. I got a vibe that screamed "steer clear!" I listened.

Their names got around in a day or two and, although a lot of us hadn’t heard of the Winchesters, there were a couple who had. They steered clear, too. Wouldn’t speak of them at all, and left the area or dropped their eyes if the brothers entered the yard or the cafeteria or wherever they happened to be.

 

Prison – this one at least – has its own type of pecking order. The weak are preyed on – or protected by – the strong. Groups and gangs form, alliances and enemies made, that type of thing. I’m sure it’s like that everywhere, especially for people who are lifers. People feel the need to prove that they can take care of themselves, or that they can take what they want.

This place has those people, just like any other maximum security lock-up.

Of course, they went after the smaller of the brothers first, Dean Winchester. One at a time, and then as a group. They came away from it limping like kicked dogs, tails between their legs and bruised faces and bloody mouths and broken bones to show for it. 

Then some geniuses figured that the bigger one, Sam, was probably the more docile brother, and he would be an easier target. That ended the same as fucking with Dean did: bruises and bleeding and broken bones.

And then, when Dean found out someone had fucked with his brother? Well, things got real ugly then, and a couple of people got sent up to the infirmary and even to the hospital two towns over. 

So word got around pretty quick that you don’t fuck with the Winchesters. 

They were a scary pair, but I remember other things about them. Like the time they stepped in when a group of guys were trying to beat down another inmate, six-to-one. 

Like the time they came to the defense of a guard who was jumped by a particularly psychotic individual. Protected the guard by taking the inmate, Pitbull Joe we called him, down, real calm-like, and pinning him to the ground until other guards showed up. Sam stood over Danny, the guard, and glared at anyone who came near, while Dean took down Pitbull. Didn’t hurt a hair on his head, just took him down and held him there.

I remember the way Sam gave his Jell-o to another inmate, Eddie, every Tuesday and Thursday. Eddie was in for violent crimes, like most of us, but he was a little touched in the head. More child-like than not, and man, he loved Jell-o. Once he found that out, Sam would stop at Eddie’s table every Tuesday and Thursday, scoop his Jell-o onto Eddie’s plate, and move on to sit with his brother. Eddie would light up like a Christmas tree, happy as could be. He liked Sam. Drew him pictures in art therapy, I hear.

The guards thought they would separate them once, in the beginning. They put Dean in another cell after the brothers beat down a couple of the guys harassing them. When it was time for lights out, Dean waltzed right back into Sam’s cell, told the guy they had stuck in there with Sam to piss off, and bunked down just as he did every night since arriving. I guess the guards knew it was a lost cause, because they didn’t separate them again. It probably helped that the thing with them protecting one of the officers happened a couple days after.

I became more observant after I was locked up. Have to be – I’m in a place filled with violent criminals now. We’re all locked up, but it can still be dangerous here. 

It was hard for me not to notice the interaction between the brothers, when I couldn’t avoid them completely. They were _close_ , if you get what I’m saying. Always touching, those possessive, private little touches you and a lover do to each other. Also, I was two cells down from them and I heard what went on at night. So there’s that.

While they were both protective of each other, heaven help anyone who crossed Sam Winchester. Dean did not take kindly to anyone trying to fuck with his brother, figuratively or literally. He was, in a word, possessive. 

Like the time someone said Sam had a fuckable mouth and he was going to be using it that night, and Dean knocked two of his teeth out with a single blow. Or the time one of the guys thought it would be a good idea to leer at Sam in the shower. The brothers looked like damn underwear models, and they got a lot of covert, and sometimes overt, looks. It wasn’t until he suggested Sam come over and “suck his dick for a couple of smokes” that Dean got pissed. He had the guy on the floor before we knew what happened, and shoved a bar of soap in his mouth, _then_ made him apologize to Sam. 

They were both crazy as fuck, in my not-too-professional opinion. 

I worked in the prison library. I say worked, but it wasn’t a paid position. It was a small room with maybe two hundred books, but it was quiet and I liked it. Sam Winchester walked into the library one day and I nearly pissed myself. Because it wasn’t just that these were big men, who could obviously handle themselves: it was their eyes. The looks in those eyes. They weren’t dead stares, oh no. Those two had eyes that were alive, and observant, and fearless. 

I ain’t even exaggerating. _Fearless_. I don’t know what those two had seen in their time, but there wasn’t anything in that prison that struck fear in either one of ‘em. Not man, not threat of harm, not threat of life. 

He was real nice to me, though. He even talked to me while he chose a couple of books to read. He was quiet-spoken and smart and funny. Still scary as hell, though. Aware of everything around him, every moment he was talking to me, and always on guard. I breathed a sigh of relief when he left, I can tell you that.

In a place like this, there are always the people who can’t seem to accept that they’re not top dog. One such person was a man we all called Big E. He had wrangled with the older Winchester, Dean, shortly after the brothers arrived here, and he hadn’t come out the victor. Big E held a grudge, and he liked to use violence to resolve his issues.

It wasn’t really a shock when he caught Dean Winchester out in the yard one evening and decided to settle the score. It was stupid, sure but not really a surprise. Big E came up behind Dean that evening, trying to be sneaky, I reckon. I saw Dean’s face when Big E was approaching him; he _knew_ he was being approached, and he wasn’t a damn bit concerned about it, if you ask me. Anyway, Big E wrapped an arm around the smaller man’s neck and shoved the business end of a shank up under his chin. 

“I’m gonna fuck you up!”

Every eye in the yard turned to them at Big E’s threat – it wasn’t like he was trying to keep it quiet. He was putting on a show, here, for anyone who might try to challenge him in the future. 

The bigger brother, Sam, he turned and took it in, those big fists clenched at his sides and fury on his face.

That smaller Winchester fella? He _smirked_. Looked at his brother, tilted his head a bit, and honest-to-God _smirked_. 

They had some kind of method of unspoken communication, those two; I had seen it countless times since their arrival. Dean smirked, and Sam halted and he smiled suddenly, this small, secret-like smile.

I think it unnerved Big E, seeing that, because he wanted to know quick-like,  
“What the hell is so funny, freak?”

Those of us who had steered clear of the Winchesters could have told him before Dean answered (and I’m fair certain he answered only to make a point to everyone listening):

“When this braindead meat sack decides to grow a pair and shove his shank in my throat, and I’m down for the count – “

“I’ll end him. Slowly.” Sam’s voice was calm, eerily calm, and quiet when he finished his brother’s sentence. Like he was having an everyday conversation, real pleasant-like, it was. 

Dean Winchester spoke like he hadn’t a care in the world, like there wasn’t the sharp end of a shank pressing into his throat, and his brother responded like he was inside a church. The most chilling moment of it all? When Dean smiled a real smile and said,

“Good boy, Sammy.”

It scared the hell out of me.

Scared Big E, too; you could see it on his face.  
It wasn’t just the complete lack of fear in Dean’s voice that was so frightening.  
Not just the threat in that quiet promise from Sam’s mouth, but the _rage_ and the _certainty_ and the _anticipation_ in his green eyes. _That_ message was clear, to Big E, to everyone in the place:

You don’t fuck with this kid’s brother and live to tell about it. You don’t fuck with either of them and live to tell about it while the other had breath in him.

Big E dropped the hand that held the shank real quick. Called out something like “Ain’t worth it,” as he backpedaled away from those brothers. And when Dean Winchester turned those green eyes on him, he got the hell out of there real fast. 

Wasn’t a soul in the place who fucked with those Winchester boys after that day. They kept to themselves, mostly, and everyone gave them their space. 

It was in everyone’s best interest to do so, I reckon. 

And then one morning, they were just gone. Couple of the guys said they saw some scruffy-looking guy in a long, brown trenchcoat walk into the yard one morning – noone knows where the hell _he_ came from – and then he was just _gone_. And the Winchesters were gone, too. 

Sometimes I think I dreamed ‘em up. Better that they’re gone, this place has been a powder-keg of tension and uneasiness and fear since those two boys were brought in. Now we can all relax and get back to normal, whatever normal happens to be inside these walls.


End file.
